


Memories of a Sister

by Phoenixflames12



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 13:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20489315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflames12/pseuds/Phoenixflames12
Summary: July 1809Whilst playing in the grounds of Kilwarren, Sophie and Meliora Enys stumble across a memory of a forgotten little girl.





	Memories of a Sister

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of Carolight week hosted by @fuckyeahdwightcaroline over on tumblr

July 1809

Even after all these years, Dwight still thinks of Sarah.

She hides in the shadows, her beautiful, half formed face lit up with laughter as he sits in the rose arbour in the garden at Kilwarren, watching Sophie and Meliora run races on the lawn- their white dresses lit up against the dense, green grass. The light is soft and dappled, shadowed sunlight catching over the cascade of falling petals, soft pinks, ivory whites and rich, dark plums as they tumble to the gravel beneath his feet.

She runs and tumbles with her younger sisters, the hem of her dress slick with dew and grass, a flicker of white flecked light flashing in and out of the sunlit shadows, exaltant in a girlhood that could never be hers.

She accepts an orange from him with a soft, gap toothed smile and soft, chubby fingers- her grey-blue eyes that are just like her mother, the hint of a birth freckle just visible below her left eye.

Had he noticed it in the few short months when she had been alive?

He can’t recall.

‘_Thank you, Papa.’_

Her voice could easily have been a breath of wind whispering against his cheek, or the chirp of a chaffinch in the ornamental yew, but to him it’s as clear as a bell’s chime.

‘Papa! Papa, come and look!’

Sophie’s hand grasps his, pulling him back to the present. Her fingers are soft and supple and sticky with whatever she’s been playing with, her eyes alive and shining out of a sun kissed face.

‘What is it?’

She grins mischievously at him, pressing a finger to her lips and gripping his hand tighter, pulling him out from under the shadows.

Meliora greets them with her grey- blue eyes that are exactly like Caroline’s and her long, straight nose blushing brightly with freckles, running out from her hiding place under the great Oak tree that had guarded this part of the garden for generations.

Grabbing his other hand, she helps her sister pull him under the spreading branches, the shadowed sun catching the hints of copper highlighted in her hair. He runs along with them, ducking low under the branches, his shoes crunching over the carpet of pine needles beneath his feet.

Meliora is dancing ahead of them, eyes shining with secrets.

‘There! We- Well, Sophie found it when we were playing and…’

Meliora breaks off, suddenly shy, her hair tumbling over her face as she looks firmly down at her feet.

‘What is it, Papa?’

A sudden, pained hitch of breath catches in his throat at the sight of what Meliora is hiding.

The ground seems to fall away, even the pressure of Sophie’s hand tugging on his sleeve not feeling at all real.

The granite slab is weathered with age- the carved lettering of his eldest daughter’s name and dates just readable.

_Sarah Caroline Enys. _

_June 1798- September 1798_

_Forever loved. _

He swallows thickly, the ghosts of tears burning against his eyelids, remembering all too clearly standing in the parlour, mechanically uncorking a decanter of brandy and trying to answer Ross’s questions as upstairs, Sarah’s little, unlived life had flickered and guttered in her Mother’s arms like candlelight.

Remembering the way that the little heart that had fought so hard to keep beating had finally stilled as night had passed over the windows of the bedchamber.

Remembering the long, cold walk through the graveyard, the sky awash with driving rain, the air echoing with broken sobs.

‘It-‘ He breaks off, for a moment unable to put what needs to be said into words that his daughters- his precious, beautiful, God-given daughters- can understand.

‘Is that-?‘ Sophie breaks off, turning suddenly troubled eyes to Dwight.

‘Yes,’ he says quietly, the word caught around a swallow.

Letting go of her father’s hand, Meliora kneels in front of the little slab, reaching out to trace the letters with her finger.

‘Sarah,’ she murmurs at last, looking up at her father with soft, troubled eyes.

‘Did you love her, Papa? Would… Would she like us?’

‘I did,’ he murmurs, remembering that last evening as he had stood on the clifftops looking out over Nampara Bay, the sunset blazing in a death of golden white over the ocean, holding Sarah against his breast.

Had she lived she would have just passed her ninth name day, a day celebrated with a ride over to Nampara to see Ross, Demelza and the children. 

‘I’m sure she would,’ he replies with a soft smile to Meliora, reaching out a hand to her and drawing Sophie close as he settles himself on an upturned tree root, facing the headstone.

Caught in the vast expanse of sky and too high to be seen, a song thrush sings out a shiver of notes, each of them cascading down through the trees to the little clearing.

The sun shifts through the leaves, catching the curls at Sophie’s cheek, the freckles that blossom over Meliora’s nose, warming the steady, unified beat of their hearts against their dresses.

And making himself comfortable, Dwight begins to tell them both a story of their sister.

* * *

_ **Fin** _

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to read and review! 
> 
> Comments, suggestions, questions, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain!
> 
> Much love and enjoy x


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